by Mike Simmons
Within minutes, the rancid stench overwhelmed them. Terrin clutched his middle, vomiting to the side of the tunnel. A bellowing chuckle came from outside the entrance; Florian. As the fingers of light stretched weakly into the cave, the image of the cave-in slowly came to focus. Large boulders from the ceiling lay in a huge pile, stretching from wall to wall, all the way up out of view. The purple, discolored hand of a miner reached out from the rock mess, as if trying to grab for something out of his reach. His fingers bent in a still image of agony. Other ghastly body parts revealed themselves as the light flickered its rays upon the heap of rocky death. The men stared in silence.
Edward approached Baby cautiously, looking around at all of the carnage; off fifty paces on the opposite side of the road, Firecracker grazed in the tall grasses. Bodies of the fallen lay in pools of blood that painted the road for as far as he could see. Jasmine waited by the woods edge, thirty paces behind him, hiding amongst the trees.
“It seems safe, there is no more danger here,” Edward voiced back towards Jasmine. Edward’s brow bent with worry. He could not sense danger but he could not sense life either. “Brandon is not here."
“Do you, is Brandon . . .” her voice trailed off into silence.
“I don’t know, dear. Let us hope he is okay.”
They walked into the war zone, stepping carefully over the bodies and avoiding the random weapons strewn about. Baby followed shortly behind them, looking around with eyes wide at the odd and peculiar sights. There were so many bodies; bodies on top of bodies, in the road and off, and scattered throughout the tree line. The ground squished beneath their steps, spattering blood and dirt on their shoes and along the bottoms of their robes.
“So much death. So much life wasted. It’s Reinhold’s boys, and there, Blade Maidens,” Edward said, pointing to a woman in a silver breastplate. “This is fresh, within a day I would say. But why isn’t anyone here recovering this equipment or retrieving their dead? It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“What could have done this?” came quietly from Jasmine’s lips. Edward turned around to see her crouched down, rubbing her finger over a slice in the back of man’s chest plate. Edward scrunched his eyebrows and moved eagerly over to her.
Jasmine’s words were whispers. “It is so clean. I have never seen anything like this." Edward kneeled over to take a closer look. After a brief pause, Edward’s eyes opened wide.
“Bauth’Dok.”
Edward focused on his powers, reaching for a sense of anything. The power cooled and soothed him, washing over him like a fresh rain, clean and exhilarating. If he closed his eyes, it might have seemed like he floated on nothingness. Edward had done this countless times before; it was nothing new. He did not pay attention to how it made him feel; he simply searched for the sense. He searched for life, for danger, for anything, but they were alone. No danger. No life. Nothing.
He stood and walked deeper into the battlefield, fully alert and scanning the edge of the woods. “C’mon. We need to keep moving.”
They traversed the combat zone for what seemed like days. As the sun reached higher in the sky, the smell of death grew and the flies became overwhelming. They mounted up on the horses and rode urgently out of the clouds of death.
“We have to reach Victorville,” Edward said.
“What about Brandon?”
“There is nothing either of us can do now to help him. We must reach my sister, and hope that she can help us.”
As they rode away from the destruction, Edward explained the seriousness of the situation to Jasmine, who really did not understand the severity of it all.
The Bauth’Dok were human during the time known as The First Age, around two thousand six hundred years ago. They lived and partook of society like everyone else. Then, a man by the name of Ingtar Bauth’Dok, the believed founder and ruler of the people now known as the Bauth’Dok, left his family to explore the undiscovered land across the Paraline River. Highly intelligent and Gifted, he devised a way to cross the river using a pulley system with an odd-shaped bamboo boat that deferred the powerful current, which repeatedly swept boats and swimmers miles down shore. It was not said how or when he discovered the trexalite, but everything changed for him after that day.
He took a sample of the metal back home, and studied it. He revealed that his gift grew in power when used with the metal on his body; it could be in his hand, around his neck, or even in his pocket. In certain instances, or in specific quantities, the metal could do things by itself, like boil water, or turn candle wax to stone. He obsessed about the metal and all of its wonderful and awesome properties. To a Gifted, this metal could boost one’s abilities, and therefore became invaluable.
He gathered a few of his gifted colleagues and they mined and experimented with the metal. The Ril’Kaloth Mountains had the highest concentrations of it, so they dug. They learned how to forge the metal, using intense heat aided by magic. He found it harder than forged steel, and if sharpened, it would never lose its edge. They formed small pieces of the metal into little animal shapes, and sold them to other Gifted for lofty prices in order to pay for their endeavor. These “Marks” are especially powerful and extremely rare pieces of the “first metal,” and are the only known examples of the metal outside of Bauth’Dok control. The first metal discovered was especially old; a hundred thousand years older than the trexalite mined now, and the older the metal, the more powerful it is. They discovered that the metal could do more than boost one’s powers, it could amplify them exponentially. Edward’s brother mentioned an animal Mark hidden inside the vaults at Castle Belkin.
Trexalite became everything to these people. They lived for it, and built their entire society around it. It took them decades to realize that the metal radiated death and killed them. Raw trexalite, the most powerful for channeling magic, emits small amounts of deadly radiation. The effects of the radiation were incurable. The Bauth’Dok people ignored the pleas of others telling them to leave the metal alone and that it would kill them. So they moved inside the mining caves and cut off all ties and relationships outside of their colony.
They felt resentment for the outsiders who wanted to help them. The Bauth’Dok people felt the outsiders wanted the mining stopped so others could exploit the wonders of their metal. That resentment, over time, turned into hatred. As the metal turned them into a mighty adversary, it also turned them into something else. Their bodies changed over the years. Their skin changed colors and their bodies changed shape. Their physical vision faded, as a new type of sight began to grow. Even with their perceptible evolution, one thing stayed the same; a person would live only a half-life if they mined the metal. That is why they abducted people from the surrounding areas; to force them to mine. With the power of the trexalite behind them, no one could refuse or stop them.
“And now Brandon is mining for them. I fear he doesn’t have a lot of time,” Edward said as they traveled into the wind.
Elsewhere, in a place far from this world, yet too close for comfort, the wind howled throughout a cold and dark castle. It’s daunting wall, fifty feet high and covered in razor sharp rocks, surrounded the entire castle as torches spread flickering shadows amongst the guarded walkways behind. Armored men prowled the wall, looking over the edge, anxious and ready for something unseen. These were not ordinary men; each man an exact copy as the soldier behind him, in appearance and creation; duplicates. They walked the same, eyed the land the same, and looked ready to kill, the same. They each gripped their torches in their outstretched hands identically. They were of one mind. When one man became alert of something, they all became alert.
Just behind the wall sat the fortress, menacing and colossal. The solid stone castle stood unyielding and unseen behind it, except for the single tower that reached toward the sky, jetting upwards with spiraling windows that started from its base and ran its length to the conical roof at the top. Illuminated purple clouds plastered the sky and raced by as if time accelerated. Three yellow
moons held their position above them, spreading an eerie glow to the world below.
Poor light spread throughout the room at the top of the tower. The only light came from the large circular pool of water that filled its center, held in a white granite well fifteen feet across. The solid wooden rafters that supported the tower were lined with Screechers, large humanoid creatures that looked more bat than human, with large bony wings and pointed ears. They sat like gargoyles, staring down into the room. The darkness hid them well, apart from their glowing green eyes that stuck out like stars in the midnight sky; eyes that watched the shimmering figure that moved from within the water’s image. They screeched and clicked their tongues at the figure on the edge of the well, watching the water intently. He stood wrapped in a thick, black wool cloak that hung on him like a heavy sheet and dragged on the ground. He stared into the water attentively.
The images that danced over the surface of water were of a dark place. The men in the image, dark and dirty with very poor light, moved and shuffled together in a space that left them shoulder-to-shoulder. They formed a workman’s line, moving materials from man to man through the line to the man in the back who tossed them in the metal cart that sat behind him. They moved quickly. Two men stood out amongst the group. They moved and looked different, and behaved different around the other men. They were unruffled and composed, even though they were slaves.
The fifth man back in the workman’s line, the man in the center of the watery image, held The Watcher’s gaze. It was too dark to see what he wore, but clearly fire burned behind his eyes hidden beneath his dark leather skullcap as he diligently worked with the other captives. The Watcher cracked a small smile as a single word exited his bloodless lips.
“Interesting . . ."
Chapter 7 - Let the Race Begin
The sun stretched its rays over the mountaintops, illuminating the brilliant blue sky that stood cloudless and warm. A slight breeze carried around fallen leaves, dried pieces of plants, and spread wonderful fresh air throughout the grasses. Birds sang their peaceful songs and the sound of people could be heard off in the distance; the birth of other beautiful day.
In contrast to the deep green leaves that covered the trees and the lighter green grasses swaying in the wind, Victoria stood on the edge of the woods, watching the line of vendors and tradesmen headed into Castle Belkin. Her heart pounded hard enough that she could hear it in her ears. Her adrenaline pumped and made her hands feel jittery. She sighed heavily, already regretting her plan, a plan she had to complete. She looked at the people; at the guards doing their job, at the vendors carrying baskets and pushing carts full of fruits, vegetables, crafts, and other knick-knacks, and her eyes fell to the ground. She had to do this; she had no choice. Would this turn the tides of war? Does it matter? It will not affect me. My son will have the opportunity to live a full life, something that I cannot give him without help, and she is the only one who can help me. Does it really matter who wins this war? Aurora will not hurt me. Reinhold will not even know who I am. I have to do this. It is the only way. I am sorry. Please forgive me. Victoria grabbed her woven basket of fresh breads and headed to the road.
Victoria had grown up troubled. She had loving parents and never went without in life, but her ability made things difficult for her. She came from a small village with no Gifted. Everyone knew each other. When things were bad or needed done, all of the villagers would pitch in to make things work.
When she turned four years old, a fight with her three-year-old brother tragically cost him his life. She did not understand what happened. She got angry with him because he threw mud on her dress before they headed for church. She felt frustration and anger at his mocking laugh. Rage built up inside of her as he giggled his little, three-year-old laugh. He found it funny; a three year old doing what they do best, and a four year old who could not handle her younger brother. His eyes went white as they rolled back into his head. He collapsed to the floor.
Her parents, along with the rest of the local villagers, had no explanation of what happened; he did not have a mark on him. The villagers concluded it must have been his heart, even though Victoria thought otherwise. She knew when her anger built up inside of her and reached a peak that something happened; the that was the exact point her brother collapsed. Even though her parents assured her he died of natural causes, she knew different.
Victoria grew up to be a beautiful young woman. She had long, straight black hair and a light, fair skin. Her eyes were a deep brown; her daddy used to stare into them and tell her they were deep enough to see her soul. He would tell her all of the wonderful things he saw in her eyes. She loved him very much.
She had been skinny her whole life, but not by choice. She ate all of her dinner, and liked to snack on her mother’s homemade bread anytime she could, but she never gained weight. Her skinny figure stayed with her into her adult years.
She wore the simple black dress her mother made for her before she passed away. Although ragged along the bottom edge, she loved it because it reminded her of home. She blended right in with the walking merchants.
Four guards covered the merchant gate, two up in front, and two towards the back inside the walls. Each held a long spear that acted as a better resting pole than a weapon. They eyed the merchants carefully, wishing them good morning as they passed into the courtyard. Occasionally, they would stop a merchant and search the contents of their load. Victoria had been through this routine many times before. She made bread from her mother’s recipe and sold it to make her living, and although she did not make a lot of money, she made enough to support her and her son.
“You got more of that great bread girl?” a guard asked as she approached. He had an expecting smile on his face.
“Of course, Lilliam,” she said with a nod. Under normal circumstances, she would have been happy to talk to Lilliam. His wife loved her bread, and he would buy a loaf or two every time she would come through the gates. He looked forward to seeing her, and she always liked the extra coin he would give her. Today however, it saddened her to see him. She did not want to hurt him, or anyone, but she would if she had to. She could not look him in the eyes. It felt as if he could see right through her; to see what she planned on doing. She grabbed a loaf as she looked hard at the ground.
“Here you go. No charge." She held out the loaf in her hand.
An odd look grew on Lilliam’s face. “No charge?" He let out a bewildered chuckle. “Nonsense." He pulled out his coin purse. As he looked at her, his eyes squinted with concern. “You okay, Victoria? Is everything all right?”
Oh no, don’t make a scene. Don’t let him think something is wrong!
With a forced smile, she looked into his eyes. “Everything is fine, Lilliam! Don’t be silly! Now here, take your bread, you can catch me up on the bill tomorrow.”
With that, his expression relaxed and the smile came back to him. “All right. All right then. My wife will be pleased you stopped by today, you know, she just loves your bread.”
She gave him another small smile and nodded. “Thank you, I appreciate your business. I must get going." Her eyes hit the road again, her smile gone, and she moved back into the castle. She cleared the portcullis and approached the second set of guards. She thought she cleared the gates when a voice spoke a word that made her heart stop.
“Wait!”
Her eyes darted up to see if the voice called to her. Behind one of the guards, an older man, dressed like the other commoners, stood out of his wicker chair, and pointed a finger at her. “You! Wait!”
Oh no. . . . Her heart stopped as the guards looked back at the man to see who he pointed at. He brushed by the guard as deep concern shaped his brow. He shook his finger at her.
She could not let this happen. She had a mission, and if she did not complete it, her son would die. On any other day, she would never hurt an innocent man, but today, she had no choice. It's now or never; him, or me.
Instantly, the look of concern faded fr
om her face. She stopped walking as a rock solid expression became her new mask. Her eyes opened as she looked at the man who would ruin her plan. She let the flow of coolness take her. She reached deep, and unburied the strength within her. It overtook her, and the coolness exploded.
The man stopped in his tracks. The arm he pointing at her drained of strength as it slid down to his side. His eyelids closed and he collapsed. She took his life.
Move, you fool! Move! Victoria dropped her head and moved past the wave of incoming vendors towards the inner wall. She saw the stable yard ahead. Maybe that would give her cover from the guards.
“The Sensor is down! Lockdown the gates! Now!" As the guard shouted his commands, the other guards scattered in organized chaos. Archers along the top wall split their distance and knocked their arrows, looking down into the courtyard. With a whistle from the watchtower, groups of uniformed and armed guards barreled out of the barracks building, scattering in all directions towards pre-designated areas. The gates slammed shut, followed by the clicking of the lock bars. Shouts of the commanders rang through the air. Weapons flashed and armored men flooded the area.
Victoria dashed towards the stables. Her calm demeanor vanished; her heart pounded, and her blood pumped like fire through her veins. Panic took over. I have to make it! They can’t find me! I must do this! She pushed forward so hard that she nearly fell over as guards scoured the courtyard.
Bursting into the stable house, Victoria’s foot caught an edge of gravel, causing her to fall headlong into the dirt. She sat there momentarily, belly down, trying to catch up with herself. She stared right into two leather boots. Her eyes followed the boots up to a pair of dirty pants a worn leather apron. An older man with a dirty but kind face smiled down to her. He held out his hand.